Ethereal
by headtrip parade
Summary: Shattered dreams and the dysfunctional pieces they leave. Speculative based on spoilers. Angsty with some bittersweetness.
1. Chapter 1

**Some spoilers have been trickling out and I'm loving all of the potential. Not quite sure it's going to be bliss right off the bat, but none the less, we will get tons of the good kind of angst (which you know I love!). Here's just a little speculative something I've based on some spoilers coming out of the winter hiatus. Probably won't be more than two chapters, maybe three. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>Her breath crept out in front of her like a hazy fog along the water. It hovered heavily over her head, trying its damnedest to weigh her down.<p>

Rayna didn't notice. She _couldn't_ notice.

She felt free; weightless. She envisioned herself flying through the atmosphere, reminiscent of the feather from the opening and ending sequences of _Forrest Gump._

She rolled her eyes.

_Seriously, Rayna? Forrest Gump?_

She chuckled, ridiculing herself for the mental reference, but at the same time giving thanks that this is the kind of nonsensical drivel she was able to think up right now. She'd needed this—time to herself to just gather her thoughts and desires; time to reflect on what she really wanted for her life and her children's lives without a camera crew hounding her or a devilish cowboy hat on her shoulder telling her what she needed; time to decompress.

She was able to alleviate a lot of her stress with the wind in her face and the best of Dolly Parton blaring through her speakers, but even still… the silence; the sound of the water distantly lapping against the dock is what she craved.

She sighed, sending more of her breath into the biting December atmosphere and watching it fade among the lake in the horizon. She glanced around, wrapping her coat tighter and shoving her gloved hands into her pockets as she took in her surroundings—the white siding was in dire need of a pressure wash, the green porch needed a coat or two of lacquer, and the handcrafted chair she occupied needed to be stained.

_This house._

She ruminated.

_This fucking house._

It'd been her dream house ever since the first time he'd taken her to the lake on her 17th birthday. She told him that night she wanted a house on the water with tons of windows and a big porch so she could sit outside and watch the fireflies and the ducks and play music like the world was ending tomorrow. Then she'd kissed him.

She told him again when he took her back weeks later, only this time she included him in her grandiose plans for the porch. Afterward, she gave him all of herself in the back of his beat up pick-up and she never looked back.

Dreams of a career took the forefront, but in the back of her head this vision of perfection always danced. She always saw him and her and their family hanging out on the porch, playing music, splashing in the water, and drinking her mama's mint orange sweet tea recipe until the summer faded and the fireflies died out.

She even saw it clear as day the first time he brought her here; surprised her with this gift that he so graciously wanted to give her for putting up with him and every piece of garbage that came with him.

She _still_ saw it the night he asked her to marry him; the night they'd so effortlessly blended together to create such a special life out of thin air.

Time crept by and the dream hardened; drifted into some clouded memory that become more and more difficult for her to revisit.

This place no longer invited her utmost fantasies; it seemed to destroy them. She closed her eyes, making a futile attempt to again see what she had seen for so long; to hear the laughter and the music and everything she knew in heart was supposed to be there.

_Nothing._

She sighed and opened her eyes, retreating back to reality: the place was in borderline disrepair, she didn't even have a key to seek shelter from the frigid cold, and she was alone.

When she woke up that morning, she was 28 hours away from walking down the most obscene aisle anyone could comprehend. And now she was here, for what reasons she did not know.

She'd called off the wedding, jumped in her car, and driven anywhere—really, she could have gone _anywhere_—and she ended up at this place; _their_ place.

Maybe that meant something. Perhaps, she thought, it meant the dream was still salvageable—that he had been right all along.

She wiped her hands on her thighs and let out a breath, hoping against hope that she could be worthy of that dream again.

A creak of the hardwood broke her thoughts and she glanced upward, fearful.

_No one's supposed to be here._

Except him.

And at the same time… he wasn't.

Her eyes drifted from the bag of groceries in one hand to the firelogs in the other, then to his eyes.

_Deacon's eyes… damn him._

She smiled meekly, lifting her hand in a shy waving motion.

"Hey."

It was barely above a whisper, but it was all she could muster. She hadn't spoken to anyone in five hours.

She'd expected several reactions from him—anger, sadness, happiness, confusion… anything, really, except what she received: nothing. His eyes were dead, brimming with unwelcome tears she wasn't sure were for her.

He shrugged, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

"What the hell are you doing here, Ray?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm honestly not sure how I see this playing out. I guess this is the best possible version of what's going through my head when they finally have this conversation (or lack thereof)... thanks for reading and reviewing! The feedback really does mean so much. And thank you to Shiny Jewel for fielding my insecurity of the timeline so brilliantly. :) Enjoy!**

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><p><em>"What the hell are you doing here, Ray?"<em>

Deacon watched Rayna swallow hard and look to feet. He could tell by the twitch in her face that she was somewhat embarrassed. Truth be told, so was he. Once the layers of shock and general confusion were peeled away, finding her here was definitely off his radar.

He'd expected nothing of her sort when he decided to load his truck that morning.

"I just went for a drive, I guess." She spoke softly. "Ended up out here. I didn't think you'd show up."

He scoffed, completely at a loss for words. He wasn't sure anyone could blame him—they'd barely spoken since the Rolling Stone article and what they had said had pertained to nothing but who was picking Maddie up when and from where.

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, confusion awash on his face.

She shrugged, shoving her hands back into her coat pockets as the awkwardness of the situation became more apparent with each passing beat.

"I don't know. Guess I figured you'd be busy, or something."

Deacon rolled his eyes and stepped towards the door, placing the firewood and groceries on the ground as he fished for his key.

"Well, I could say the same thing about you."

Rayna stood. Suddenly, the air had a different feel about it. Her peace and longing was gone, quickly replaced by the thick heaviness of their lost future; their lost _everything._

"Deacon, I think—"

"Aren't you getting married in like an hour?"

He placed his items just inside the door before stretching his arm across the entrance, making it painfully aware that he had no intention of inviting her inside. She pursed her lips, unsure she could blame him. He was clearly hurting—the days old scruff on his face and bloodshot eyes gave that away tenfold.

She looked down at her feet, bracing herself for the first time she'd be admitting it to anyone out loud. Hell, Bucky hadn't even heard it from her. She'd been so adamant on making her career a priority lately that part of her deal to herself when she woke up that morning was to make it take a back seat—her girls and herself were coming first, if only for a day but much, _much_ longer if she had anything to say about it.

"No. That wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow."

His eyes squinted as he took in her words.

"What do you mean, 'wasn't supposed to'?"

She shrugged sluggishly.

He watched the tears pooling in her eyes and it was obvious to him that they were burning her; but damn it, she would not let them fall. It was her resilience that had always made such a strong impression on him in their beginning, and it looked now to be every bit as consuming.

Knowing this, he turned his head. He couldn't do it.

Wiping her eyes, she brought her vision to the side of his face. Her voice was stronger than it had been all day; definitely more strong than her physical being. She radiated confidence as she spoke, allowing his thoughts to wander to a place he wasn't sure was healthy—_is she really about to say it?_

"I ended it."

Deacon stared at her; broken, shocked, but somehow… not surprised. He blinked back a few tears of his own, smirking slightly at the irony of it.

_Oh, the irony._

He'd imagined this day from the very second he realized she'd failed to show up at the Bluebird. He'd imagined her coming to his door, just as radiantly and confidently as she was now. He'd imagined himself taking her inside, grinning from ear to ear and kissing her and thanking God she was back in his arms.

He'd imagined making love to her until they couldn't fucking move anymore because he needed to feel her constantly; to know that she wasn't a dream.

But his imagination, he'd decided, was a bitch. It was cruel and it was foul and if now was the time for her to be declaring this in front of him, then it was all shot to hell.

There was still _so much_ to say and he wasn't sure it would ever be worth bringing up.

"Well, if you think that's the right thing."

She nodded tentatively, sensing his apprehension.

"It is. For me and for the girls. I know we're all really wanting a break from the cameras."

She flashed him a small smile, trying to ease the tension.

He nodded slowly, lowering his head.

"Yeah, yeah. The cameras. I get it."

"Well obviously it was more than that, at the heart of it. I feel like—"

Deacon stepped out of the doorway and onto the porch, inching closer to her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and he knew she was certain he was seconds away from doing what he always did—delicately placing his limbs and lips on her body and turning her into complete putty in his hands.

But he didn't. He couldn't—there was no point.

He stopped a few inches away from that precipice, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn't deny the heat literally steaming between the two of them in the 34 degree weather, but he felt defeated; cheated, even. He let out a dry cough, a look of desperation drifting through his eyes as he tried to block it—the pain, the looming worsening, all of it—out.

"Why'd you come up here, Rayna?"

Rayna shook her head, seemingly unsure of what the right answer would be for either of them and allowing the truth to take her to whatever place they were going to go to.

"I just… the road was in front of me. I could go anywhere I wanted and without even thinking about it this is where I ended up. I don't know why. I didn't know you were gonna be here. I hadn't planned on telling you like this or seeing you like this."

"Seeing me like what?"

She gestured to his ragged appearance.

"You look like hell. It's a little unnerving, if I'm being honest."

He rolled his eyes. Of course he did.

"Yeah, well I feel like hell. I came up here so no one would bother me and I could just be left alone but I guess some privacy's too much to ask for these days, especially if it involves you."

Rayna sighed and glanced down, the hurt on her face overwhelming him. His eyes softened as he wrestled with his inner demons telling him to leave his guard up when all he wanted was to scoop her up and tell her how sorry he was for everything—that if he had a second chance, he'd make it so completely different for her and their daughter.

"Deacon, what's the matter?"

He stepped back, nearly tripping over the second chair. He could tell her gut was stinging; she was sure he was about to head into another downward spiral but for what, she had no idea.

He wanted so badly to tell her how wrong she was-that he'd never wanted a drink _less_ in his life; that the amber liquid he spent so long thinking he loved and needed was finally costing him everything and he would light matches to all distilleries himself if he could.

He shook his head, turning his back to her.

"Nothing, Ray. I can take care of myself. You came up here and you had your little moment of silence or reflection or whatever so can you just go now?"

She moved behind him, grabbing his wrist before he had a chance to pull it away from her.

"Is this because of the wedding?"

He laughed, turning to face her.

"Jesus Christ, Rayna. Does it always have to be about you? Everything? All the feelings in the universe have to revolve around you, front and center?"

"Deacon, I didn't mean—"

"Sure you didn't!" His voice rose, as did the color in his face. "I'm sure you didn't mean any of it."

He glared at her, yet didn't bother to read her. He couldn't. She was shocked and hurt. Reading her would've meant he caved and he had promised himself before he even saw her today that he would not cave to her.

_She can't know._

Pained, Rayna dropped his wrist and wiped a piece of stray hair from her face.

"Is it about that woman? The backup singer?"

Deacon chuckled again, bitterly; masking everything he felt with a veil of contempt for the only woman he'd ever loved and ever would love again.

"Seriously? It's always gotta be about you or some other woman? I can't just have the respect for myself to want you out of my damn face?"

Rayna blinked back her tears, saying nothing.

"I know exactly why you came up here, Ray. You came up here to look back at all the dreams we used to have and think that since you've kicked that bleached teeth son of a bitch to the curb we can try to get 'em back, right? Is that why you came?"

She choked quietly.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well," He brought his face to hers, eyeing her as seriously as he possibly could. "Leave and take 'em with you. I don't want 'em."

Letting out another cough, he brought a hand up to the tingling in his chest and turned his fit away from her, whispering silent prayers for the fluttering to pass and for her to please just _go home _before he had a heart attack or something. It would be all he needed to collapse right there.

So wrapped up in trying to calm himself down, he lost himself in the familiar feel of her ungloved hands reaching from behind him and cradling his face.

He grinned sadly. She knew he was full of shit; he could cut her down 50 times with his words but what he actually meant was always going to be a different story.

He closed his eyes, allowing a single tear to spill down his cheek and onto her finger. She wiped it away with such a solid, unwavering grace that he didn't even have to be looking into her eyes to know what was silently being said between them.

He reached up to his face, grabbing her hand and lacing her fingers through his own as he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it ever so gently.

At the sound of her whimpering, he spun on his heels, grabbing her head with both hands and roughly pinning her against the side of the house. His tongue explored her, and hers him. Their hands wildly roamed every curve and turn of the other, and it would have been _so_ easy to let it continue.

He could have had all the bliss, finally, and she could have had her dreams and they could've been _happy_ for the first time in the history of their madness.

But that wasn't in the cards; it wasn't in _his_ cards.

His cards spelled out therapy and medication for a condition that was likely going to kill him in a year without a transplant—and who was going to give a transplant to a drunk who brought it on himself?

He had to spare her that.

She didn't need to be burdened with taking care of him and watching his demons slowly kill him all over again.

He pulled away slowly, painfully, and stepped back.

He stared at her, lost and breathless as he held her hands in his. Nothing was as it could ever be again, he assumed. Nothing was as certain as was his end.

"You need to go, Ray. This can't… I can't."

With that he dropped her hands and solemnly walked inside the house, softly sliding the door shut and locking it behind him.

She stood there immobile for the better part of twenty minutes, trying to dig herself out of her fog. She didn't buy that he didn't want their dreams one bit. She felt his hands and his lips and his breath and she knew he was just as all in as he ever was.

She let a light stream of tears fall softly down her face as she walked to her Escalade, strategizing her next move, as only Rayna Jaymes could do.

She could leave him be, as he claimed he wanted.

Or, she could tear down his walls and fight for them as he had.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter turned out to be _way _longer than I anticipated, but there was a lot to get through. It's particularly dialogue heavy, but I tried to give it as much story telling as I could. Not sure if this is the last chapter or not. I didn't want this story to be a long thing but I'm feeling like there might be something else that needs to be said. We shall see. Thanks again for the reviews, everyone! It means a lot. :)**

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><p><em>Sixty four damn days.<em>

Rayna inhaled sharply as she pulled her vehicle to curb in front of Deacon's house, bemoaning privately the amount of time that had passed since their unexpected rendezvous at the lake house.

She'd tried texting, calling, and even physically cornering him but none of it was any use—he had dug his heels in deep. She sighed, honking the horn to alert Maddie of her presence. It would've been easy enough for her to just go inside and get her, and in days past she used such an opportunity to her advantage, but her task was becoming exhausting. Time after time, it seemed, she would attempt to peel away his reluctance layer by layer, and time after time he would pile 50 more on top of what was already there.

So 64 days in she found herself sitting in the car, resorting to horn honking and text messaging to arrange exchanges for her daughter.

_This fucking sucks._

She fully anticipated to get back on track at some point; to finally get to the core of his headspace and be able to enact a strategy that would actually allow them to hash out everything they needed to hash out and get him to own up to the feelings she knew he still felt. Until that time, though, she banned herself to the outside.

She beat the horn again, laying on it just a bit harder. Patience was certainly not a virtue she came by easily.

Rolling her eyes, she turned off the engine and let herself out of the Escalade. As much as she wanted time with him to pave way for whatever path they were going to build, she was at her limit for the day and it wasn't even 2 PM—label hiccups, residual press issues for her ill-timed wedding cancellation, and Daphne had ran her ragged at the mall well before noon. The only way she could've handled any brooding bit of Deacon Claybourne was if he got over himself and got under her.

She opened the screen door, knocking softly as she did.

"Yoo hoo. Hey guys," she stepped into the empty living room. "Maddie?"

Confused, she approached the muddled chattering coming from the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of her daughter, visibly shaken, sitting beside her father at the table. She held a glass of ice water in her hands, while he pressed a sopping wet towel to his alarmingly pale forehead. His breathing was labored and his hands were shaky.

Rayna tossed her bag onto the ground.

"What's going on?"

She kneeled to Deacon's level, placing her hand on his clammy neck.

"I think he's having a—"

Deacon rolled his eyes, not daring to let her finish.

"I'm fine."

Rayna ignored him, looking to her daughter.

"Did you call an ambulance?"

Maddie shook her head.

"He wouldn't let me. Just made me give him some water and help him sit."

Deacon rolled his eyes again, wiping his forehead one last time and tossing the towel onto the table.

"I told you I'm fine. I just need a minute."

He chuckled nervously, almost seeming embarrassed.

Rayna sighed and looked around the kitchen, only half convinced of his pleas that he was alright. She was blindsided by the scene in front of her: Deacon was clearly not well and Maddie looked to be on the verge of tears. She hadn't imagined in a million that this was what she'd walk into and damn it, she still had absolutely no earthly clue what was happening.

She pursed her lips, looking back and forth between the two of them before she stood and began to pace the kitchen floor.

"Maddie, can you take your stuff out to the car please?"

It may have sounded like a question, but Rayna's voice was commanding as she drew her eyes to a variety of pill bottles lined conspicuously next to the sink, but hidden behind the dish soap. She counted four.

She quickly cut her gaze to Deacon, who shifted his eyes to his feet as Maddie scoffed.

"I'm not ready to leave yet."

Rayna propped herself against the counter, struggling to stand against the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She gritted her teeth.

"I didn't say we were leaving. Just go outside please. Go for a walk. Call a friend."

Maddie shook her head violently and her voice rose to a pitch beyond what anyone would consider normal.

"I wanna stay!"

Rayna spun around; her eyes saying that she was mere seconds away from unleashing the hounds of hell if she didn't get answers yesterday, which was all but impossible with Maddie in the room. She opened her mouth to shout, stopping short when Deacon shot her a pleading glance.

His color was returning and his breathing was balancing out, she noticed.

He focused on his daughter, grinning reassuringly.

"Go on and let me talk to your mama for a minute, sweetie. I'm okay."

Maddie scowled at her mother, a look she had become accustomed to giving and Rayna become even more accustomed to receiving. It pained her to have her daughter on the verge of utter hatred for her, but she was seeing so vividly the mistakes she had made and was trying to rectify them and that was the best she or anyone else could do. Maddie would have to come around on her own terms, as she usually did.

Watching sluggishly as Maddie grabbed her phone and stepped outside, Rayna waited until she saw her step into the yard before clumsily grabbing one of the pill bottles and holding it up.

"What the hell's going on?"

Deacon smirked as he turned his chair to face her.

"Guess I'm just not as in shape as I used to be."

Rayna rolled her eyes.

"Deacon, come on now. What are these pills?"

He eyed the bottle as carefully as he could from where he was seated, taking notice of the bottle size and what little color he could see through the opaque container.

"In your hand would be my beta blockers."

"For what?"

He exhaled before smirking again, letting the moment and her question and everything that had just transpired sink in. He had been dreading this moment more than he had dreaded anything else. He felt no better than if he had been standing in the middle of a train tunnel with nowhere to turn and a locomotive barreling at him.

_All because you just had to sprint up to the attic, you bastard._

He burned his weary eyes into hers which were so fraught with concern and confusion; so full of questions and dread at the same time.

"You caught me. You want all the big fancy doctor words?"

She slammed the pills down onto the counter.

"Cut the shit."

He nodded in acquiescence, speaking matter-of-factly and without the slightest tinge of emotion as the words rolled off his tongue.

"Alcohol related dilated cardiomyopathy."

Rayna's eyebrows lifted; a hazy fear settling over her.

"What is that? What does that mean?"

"It means I have a lotta trouble breathing. I don't sleep very good, but I'm tired all the time. Taking two steps at a time does this to me."

Deacon stood slowly and walked over to the counter where she laid the pills, reaching past her to gather the other bottles. A beat passed as they both adjusted to being in each other's space; both trying to resist the innate urge to pull the other one close and cling for dear life.

Shaking off the thought, Deacon grabbed the pills and went to the opposite counter, turning his back to her as he pulled one from each bottle.

Rayna suddenly felt her mouth go completely dry as she continued to speak through her haze.

"What are they doing for you?"

"They got me on all these pills. I think they were hoping they might work a little better and buy me some more time than they have."

He took a swig of water as he swallowed his medication, refusing to turn around and see her swallow the pill he'd just fed her. It wasn't his intention to be so cold in his delivery, but it's the only way the revelations could trickle out without him completely breaking down and he refused to break down in front of her. He couldn't bring himself to consider the idea that she would have to pick him up and dust him off—it was his job to do that for her.

"Buy you time?"

Rayna choked the words out, her mouth feeling more like it was stuffed with a cotton ball with each passing second. Without even realizing, she placed her hands against the counter to steady herself.

Deacon sighed and squeezed his eyes shut hard—_here goes nothing._

"They said with the damage that's already done I'll be a miracle if I make it a year without a transplant." He opened his eyes and turned slowly, exhaling the pain away as if he'd just taken the worst shot of his life. "I guess my drinkin's finally caught up with me, huh?"

His words eviscerated her.

She tried to turn inward, but nothing happened. She was frozen; completely incapable of forming any kind of rational thought or movement. There was absolutely no way on the planet he or God were serious. A world without Deacon Claybourne was a world without anything, as far as she was concerned. They fought together in the trenches, fought each other in the trenches, and for what? For one to always be pining after the other or for one to just _die?_

She let out a breath and cocked her eyebrow, looking at him as if he had just asked her the dumbest question one could muster; she almost looked as if she wanted to laugh. She refused to believe that this was it—she couldn't just not have him anymore.

"No."

"Ray—"

She began to pace again, wildly throwing her hands up in protest.

"No, no, no. _No._ We're gonna get a second opinion, we're gonna get you the best doctors, we're gonna—"

Deacon grabbed her hands, silencing her.

"I've already got the best doctors, Ray. I've seen the reports. It is what it is."

She nodded softly and licked her lips, the weight of his revelations finally starting to hammer down on her.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the end of Luke's tour."

She darted her eyes up to him, a flash of fury running through them.

"December? You've known since December?" She tugged her hands away from his as he shook his head slowly, guilt coursing its way through his body. "You didn't think we needed to know?"

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"What about Maddie? You're her _father_ Deacon!"

Her voice was a hoarse, biting whisper. Tears sprang to her eyes and she found it becoming more and more futile to try and control herself.

"I know I'm her father, Rayna. That's what makes this so goddamn hard."

She glared at him, though it didn't a rocket scientist to figure out that she was really glaring _past_ him. It'd be easy enough to blame him, but what good what that do anyone? All of her anger and pain and goddamn stress needed to be channeled into saving him at this point, since it sounded to her like he had no intention of saving himself; like he had actually accepted this rubbish.

"Are you on a list?"

He nodded.

"They tell me I am. Can't imagine they'll give a good heart to a drunk, though."

She rolled her eyes, trying ever so delicately to not smack him hard across the face with every self-pity quip he threw in.

"Did they say that?"

"No. I'm just guessing."

She chuckled bitterly and leaned against the counter, resting her head in her hands. She wanted silence—or at least a minute to hear herself think and to process—but all she could hear was the sound of their daughter's sweet voice, muffled by the window as she talked on the phone.

A lump formed in Rayna's throat and she bolted her head up. The weight had finally completely dropped, and no longer was she petrified for herself, or even for him.

"This will break her." She whispered the words, a single tear sliding down her face. She'd wanted to spare Maddie all of the pain that came with Deacon, and she had done that for so long. Now, it seemed they were back at square one. "We have to tell her."

He leaned himself up against the counter next to her, sighing shakily as he watched Maddie through the window.

"I've been trying to figure how to do that. Every time I think I've got it, I don't anymore."

Rayna stared at the tears he was forming, her own heart breaking at the obvious work he was doing to keep them at bay. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I wish you would've told me, anyway. I would've helped you figure it out." She took his hands in hers and nudged his face up, forcing him to look her in the eye. "I'm your partner, Deacon. I've always been your partner."

He nodded, finally letting the dam break as he cried for the first time since sitting in that stale hospital room nearly 70 days ago. She pulled him close to her, allowing her own solid tears.

"I'm scared, Ray."

She buried her face in his chest, taking in his strength, his scent, and everything she possibly could. She wasn't ready to lose him, and she wasn't even sure she was going to—but she was damn sure going to live like she was.

"Me too, babe. Me too."


	4. Chapter 4 - Epilogue

**Okay, I figured there needed to at least be an epilogue with some sort of bliss. It's highly unlikely this would ever happen on TV, but I could be wrong. There's plenty of (good) drama that could come with it and I know I'd watch. Deacon deserves a good life when he gets his second chance. :) Thanks to everyone for the reviews and bless you all for reading. **

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><p>He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the chill of the crisp November air to inflate his lungs.<p>

He looked up at the East Nashville sky, watching as the deep purple slowly gave way to bright blue with a tiny bursts of orange here and there. The stars were pale, but still visible. Deacon Claybourne loved this time of morning—the quiet, the chill—but it was no secret he always loved it more at the lake house.

He sighed, knowing it would be another two weeks or so before he was cleared to travel more than 30 minutes away from the hospital. It'd been four weeks since he was wheeled into an OR with no promise of coming out; four weeks since he said goodbye to his daughter without the assurance that he'd ever look on her beautiful face again; four weeks since he and Rayna went against all rules of romance and got engaged in a sick smelling hospital room while he was hooked up to about 80 machines.

He grinned to himself and took a sip of his decaf.

Life had arguably dealt him some pretty crummy cards, but it looked like everything was finally starting to gear up and fall into place. All he needed now was the clearance to get back to everything he loved—including regular coffee.

"Bet you can't wait to get back to the real stuff."

He glanced upward at the sound of Rayna's voice, smiling as she wrapped her fleece house coat tighter around her body and sank into the Adirondack chair next to his, clutching her own cup of coffee.

"What are you doing up?"

She shrugged.

"Just seeing what you're doing."

He shrugged back.

"Figured I'd better get a head start on another day of doing absolutely nothing with no caffeine. Sorry I woke you."

She smirked and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Just a couple more weeks, babe."

"Yeah, I know. The girls still asleep?"

Rayna nodded, gripping her cup tighter to warm her hands. He sighed, looking back on the whirlwind that had been the last nine months.

She had quickly helped him find the words to tell Maddie about his diagnosis, and the three of them plus Daphne had fallen into a pattern of enjoying each other to the utmost, albeit with more and more unspoken sadness with each day that passed without a phone call for a heart.

He grinned, remembering the day Rayna finally got him to let his guard down where the two of them were concerned. She had been all he wanted for basically the whole of his life, and he was inching closer and closer to a point where a physical manifestation of what he felt for her was going to be all but impossible for him. It was just like her, it seemed, to use that in her argument that particular day.

They'd been at the lake house, of course, and from that point on it was as if nothing was wrong—even if _everything_ was wrong.

Roughly six weeks after that, he'd gotten the phone call. It had woken them in the dead of night and he could hardly breathe just walking to the car, but it was no matter—he was home now. With her, and with the girls. She'd sold her Belle Meade home with the blessing of the girls, determined that her failed lives with Teddy and Luke were embedded too deeply in the foundation for the four of them to return there as a family.

He blinked.

"I know it's cramped here with all of us, Ray, but as soon as I can—"

She shook her head.

"Babe, we're fine. Stop worrying. We'll start looking for a place as soon as you're cleared for the insane stress that comes with me house shopping."

He smirked at her and shook his head.

"I knew you were trying to kill me."

"I resent that."

He chuckled, reaching out his hand to hers. They sat in silence for what felt like forever, just basking in each other and watching the sun come up above their heads.

"Hey," he nudged her, grinning when she brought her blue eyes to his. "You're gorgeous."

She grinned back and blushed as she looked down to her sequined house boots, subconsciously taking notice of a small tear in the toe. It came as no surprise—she'd basically worn them out since Maddie insisted they get matching pairs on a random school supply shopping trip at Target.

She lifted her eyes back to him, blinking sleepily.

"Well, you're amazing."

"Amazing enough to get a sip of that?"

He gestured his head towards her cup.

She cocked her eyebrow, confused. It then dawned on her that he was referring to what he thought was the regular coffee she was apparently drinking.

She chuckled nervously, pulling her hand away from his and grasping her cup protectively.

"No, babe. Not today."

He sighed and leaned his head back against the chair.

"Rayna, come on. I've done every little damn thing those doctors have told me to do and I think I can handle one sip of regular coffee. Please?"

"Deacon, no. Just two more weeks. That's all you gotta wait. You've gone this long."

He sighed again.

"Thanks for your help."

Rayna rolled her eyes and look down at her feet, focusing again on the menacing hole threatening the toe of her slipper. She suddenly found herself stressed; struggling underneath the weight of the secret she'd been keeping from him since his surgery.

She told herself she'd tell him after he was cleared, as she wanted to be absolutely certain she didn't put any undue stress on him.

_Would he really be stressed out, though?_

They'd both come away from his diagnosis and prognosis and now his surgery with a new lease on their own lives, as well as their life together. The news of her secret had certainly scared her at first, but only because she wasn't 100% sure he was going to be there matching her step for step. Now that it was apparent he would be, the fears subsided little by little each day. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad moment… they were alone, together, watching the sunrise. That in itself was an embodiment of perfection she was thankful for.

She let out a shaky breath, continuing to stare at her feet.

"Um, this isn't regular coffee."

He smirked, bitterly lifting his cup to his mouth.

"You didn't make a pot?"

"No. Figured I'd just drink what was already there."

He looked over at her, confused by her sudden stiffness and reluctance to look anywhere but the ground.

"You okay?"

She looked up at him and grinned shyly.

"I'm fine."

"You're getting really weird over a damn pot of coffee."

She sighed and shook her head, nervously placing a hand over his.

"I'm not. I mean, I am, but… it's not about the coffee, babe."

He shivered.

"There's something I've been needing to tell you… I found out while you were in surgery and then we had to get you home to take care of you and I really wanted to wait until they cleared you for everything before I said anything because I didn't want you to get anxious or stressed or anything but then now just seems like a good time 'cause we're out here and—"

He put his hand over hers, cutting her off.

"You not spitting it out is what's making me anxious, Ray."

She chuckled nervously and bit her lip.

"Right. Um… I'm pregnant."

She immediately turned her eyes downward, letting out a breath.

She could feel his eyes burning into her, as they always had and always would.

He took in every imperfect hair sticking out of her messy bun; every line on her face as she avoided his gaze. He watched her shiver slightly against the chilly air, and almost instinctively, his eyes wandered towards her midsection. There was nothing to be seen underneath her bulky house coat and pajamas, though he'd remember forever how later in the day he would notice that she looked like she may have eaten just a bit too much.

He squeezed her hand hard, running his shaky fingers over the band that finally rested there after so many years.

"Hey, look at me."

She lifted her face to his, tears welling in her eyes as she awaited his response.

He said nothing, just leaned across and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his like he hadn't done so in decades. She ran her fingers through his hair, drinking all of him in.

He broke away slowly, reluctant to move too far away from her.

A subtle grin crept over his mouth as he ran his thumb across her tear stained cheek.

"Seriously?"

She nodded.

"Seriously."

"Perfect."


End file.
